Home
by AnaElise
Summary: Michael Westen has made a home out of his rusty loft in his Miami hometown. He has created a life with friends, family, and a relatively steady job. Fiona is not about let Anson ruin that. A look at Fiona's thoughts right before she turns herself in.


Home

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><p>I see the changes in him. I see what he's become.<p>

To say that Michael is a complicated man in an understatement.

I won't deny that I haven't always understood his devotion to his job. I've seen the havoc a government can throw upon its people, all in the name of patriotism. I never understood why Michael would risk so much to get back to the agency that burned him. An agency that wasn't willing to take a closer look into the accusations against him before throwing him out in the cold.

But Michael is stubborn. It is one of his traits that first endeared him to me. He won't back down. He doesn't agree with me and my ideas just because I say that he should. He stays firm to what he believes in and what's right.

That's why I am so worried about Anson. Anson get's in Michael's head, like a seed, and I see his thoughts changing.

But it's not just Anson that has got Michael changing his ideals. He's been fighting with his inner self for a while now. I don't think he's as devoted to getting back in as he once was. I think getting back in, for him, is now just a task that he's worked so hard on for the past five years that it's hard to do anything different.

He's confused.

He's confused about what he wants and where his loyalties lie. And he's scared because he's never faced this before.

Before his burn notice it was easy. Do what the company wants, when they want it done.

Even after his burn notice it still wasn't hard. His goal was to get back in, end of story.

But now, now he has friends, and family, and me. He is no longer accountable to just himself. He has a life. He makes a living doing what he does best for the people who need it most. It's not quite as glamorous as his job with the agency, but it's also more on his terms. _He_ chooses the clients and _he _chooses the way to help them.

It makes me angry that Anson was right. When I was up there on the rooftop, staring at Anson through the crosshairs of my sniper rifle, Anson said everything I have been telling Michael from the beginning.

For Michael, getting burned was the worst thing to ever happen to him. But to everyone else, his burn notice may have been a blessing in disguise.

His mother had her prodigal son return.

His friend found a reason for living other than women and alcohol.

His brother found an example to live up to.

And I found the love of my life.

It took him five years, but he's starting to recognize these things.

I started noticing these changes after he asked me to move in. That fact, in itself, is a huge step for him, especially considering his changing status within the agency. Anyone who has seen my Interpol file can see that I am not the first choice, when it comes to dating criteria, for beginning a relationship with spy for the U.S. government. So for Michael to decide, that he wants to take a drastic step in continuing with a relationship, despite both our statuses, is monumental.

Then he started touching me more. Maybe you haven't noticed, but Michael isn't into touchy-feely stuff. Which is fine, because public displays of affection tend to occupy your hands to the point where grabbing weapons at a moment's notice starts to become difficult. And with Michael, just the feeling of his hands on any part of my body, sends electric shock waves through me, to the point that concentrating can become a challenge. But after we moved in together, he started touching me.

Little things at first, our hands would graze while we were working on something. He would run his fingers through my hair just before I woke up in the morning. He would place his hand on the small of my back if we went out to dinner. But then it became a more frequent thing. He would reach for my hand when he was stressed, and we would sit there, talking and holding hands. He would caress my cheek and I'd look into his eyes and see every emotion and thought going through his head.

And then he started doing these things in front of other people. That was when it really threw me for a loop. He was doing it in front of Sam, Jesse, his mother, and dear Lord he even let Anson see it.

But I knew he was no longer the man I first met in that run down hotel five years ago, when he started referring to the loft as "home."

_It had been a pretty boring day for us. I met up with associate to make a referral. Then later, Michael and I met up with Sam and Jesse for lunch. We did a small job for one of Sam's buddies so that we have one of Sam's many favors to cash in later. And we ended the day with a take-out dinner at Madeline's. _

_It had been an uneventful day and an uneventful dinner but as things were winding down at his mother's, he looked over at me, all nonchalant, and asked "Ready to go home?"_

I was floored.

Madeline was shocked.

And he just freakin' continued staring at me like it was a question you ask everyday and I had inhaled a bit too many chemical fumes.

But I was fully justified in giving him that look.

Madeline understood. She was just as shocked as I was, maybe even more so.

For Michael, home was always considered an illusion. That thing you see portrayed in movies, or sitcoms, but never reality. "Home" is a hurtful place, and, if it does exist, it is nowhere near Miami, or his family, or me.

The loft was only ever meant to be a temporary thing. When he first got to Miami all he needed was a bed to sleep on, a locked door to keep out enemies and ex-girlfriends, and a refrigerator to hold all his yogurt.

The loft was meant to be functional, never a place to call home.

And yet, that's what it had turned into.

That's what Miami had turned into.

Michael Westen now had a place to call home.

And I will not let anyone take that away.

I have been considering my options for a while now. With Anson's threat constantly hanging over our heads, Michael, Sam and I need to get creative when it comes to creating a game plan. But there always needs to be a plan B. Which is why I have decided to turn myself in to the FBI.

I thought about running. I've been evading government agencies and angry bad men from multiple countries for years now, what's one more? I could disappear into the night and make my living doing what I do best for the rest of my days.

But Anson would just find someone else to use to blackmail Michael. Sam mentioned that Anson had come to see him and Jesse with a warning, and God knows what other information Anson has on Maddie.

Or I could always take Michael with me and we could disappear together, like two star-crossed lovers in a Shakespearean romance.

But our lives are not just our own any more. Both of us are accountable for more than just ourselves. We have lives now, we have a family, and we have a home.

Anson is the virus. Anson needs to be destroyed. Doing anything else is just cowardly.

That's why I need to do this. I need to turn myself in and let other people, people with more power, know of Anson's treason.

Michael doesn't understand. He's finally become comfortable with his life and his home and he doesn't want anything to change. He doesn't want other people to suffer for his benefit. But I've been suffering for him since I first met him, and I don't regret a moment of it.

Even if it had been entirely my fault for the death of those poor British embassy guards, I would have felt guilty for taking the lives of innocent men, but I would do it again for the sake of Michael's freedom from Larry.

I have now felt love like nothing else, and I have come to the conclusion that I would do anything for Michael Westen. It's terrifying to know that I have the skills to hurt and harm, and that I would use those skills on anyone, innocent or otherwise, if it meant that Michael would be safe. I think that's why he's resisted a relationship with me for so long. He's always known about these feelings, but it's much harder to do the work for the greater good knowing that you would gladly sacrifice that good if it means saving the one that you love.

But I can't let Michael sacrifice everything he's worked for. Not for me. Not anymore.

Michael is a good man. And I refuse to let him go down a path that he can no longer come back from. That's why I have to leave.

But instead of taking everything we have on Anson to the FBI, I am handcuffed to the stairs in our home, with my lock picking kit not five feet away.

I sometimes forget what a manipulative son of a bitch Michael can be.

It's hard to tell when he's being genuine. I still have no idea whether those tears he just cried for me were the real thing, or just a way to push me back towards the stairs to my current prison.

I'd like to believe that it was a little bit of both, but that may be wishful thinking.

All of sudden I heard the gate open and Sam's car come through. His heavy footsteps echoed up the stairs. I needed to get out of here. I needed to save Michael from himself.

I began to cry.

It wasn't hard. It's not like I didn't already have a lot on my mind. The tears fell easily and endlessly.

As Sam opened the heavy, creaking door to the loft, and looked toward the sounds of the sobs that were racking my body, I took the first step to my ultimate betrayal.

"Sam, please," the tears were flowing of their own accord now. I knew I couldn't stop them even if I wanted to.

"Please, Sam… Michael, he—I just need to talk to him. I just need to call him."

I knew Sam had never seen me like this, as was evident by the terrified look he was giving me.

"Sam, I just need my purse, I need to call him, please."

I saw the pity in his eyes but I also saw understanding. He might be angry at me at first for what I was about to do, but he would understand.

He reached towards the work bench to grab my purse, at the same time as I reached towards the bottle that would be my weapon of choice.

"Fi, I just want you to know—"

I never got to find out what Sam wanted me to know before the bottle connected with the side of his skull. There's a part of me that doesn't want to know. I like the relationship that Sam and I have cultivated. It's a reciprocal relationship based on trust, humor and irritation. I don't want that to change. Even with his well intentioned words of comfort.

I reach into my purse and grab my lock picking kit. Sam groans from his position on the floor. As I unlock my wrists, I consider how things will change, despite my wishes to the contrary.

Michael, Sam, Jesse and Maddie will all initially be angry at my decision. They may eventually devise a plan to get me out of whatever prison the higher ups decide to throw me in, but I know this is the right thing, for everyone, except maybe myself.

I lock the handcuffs around Sam's wrist and quickly grab a wet rag from the kitchen for his bleeding head. He's coming to now and I grab his phone out of his pocket. I won't make the same mistake twice in one day.

"I'm sorry, Sam, I just… I just need to do this." I took the letter I had written earlier in the day out of my purse and put it in his pocket. "Please give this to Michael. Tell him I'm sorry, but people need to know the truth about Anson. That's why I'm going to the FBI."

With tears still streaming down my face I grabbed my purse reached for the door. There was no happy ending, not for me, but maybe for everyone else.

"Be safe, Sam. And keep Michael safe as well."

As I walked down the steps of my home I knew I was walking away from more than just a rusty loft above a nightclub. I was walking away from Michael. Because in the end, it doesn't matter what building or town you live in. A home is where your family is, whether that be blood or something more.

I peeled out of driveway of the loft and stopped myself from looking back more than twice. I took a deep breath and resigned myself to my new fate.

With a heavy heart I wiped the tears from my cheeks and hardened my face. It was time to end this.

"Goodbye Michael, please forgive me."

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><p>"<em>Home should be where the heart is<em>_  
><em>_Never where words so true!__  
><em>_My heart's far, far away__  
><em>_Home is too."_

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><p><em><em>Authors Note: School is done for the semester and this season of Burn Notice was AWESOME! Expect more soon! Just not of this particular story.


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